Page 8 of Unhinged

A watery smile lifted Rachel's lips. “Thank you. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me, you know?”

Hannah smiled. Rachel had struggled with depression for several years, even trying a variety of medications at the urging of her family and friends. She hadn’t liked the way the drugs had made her feel, though, and she’d opted for a different solution. The barb coming from Steve that morning must have stung, making Rachel feel insecure and incompetent. Since coming to Hannah nearly six months ago, Rachel had been making significant strides.

“So tell me, Rachel. How have you been?”

“Great.” She smiled. “I took your advice and joined a gym. I think the exercise has really been helping my mood. There’s, um…” She glanced away for a moment and bit her lip. “There’s this guy there.”

“Oh?” It was good and bad news, in Hannah's opinion. While getting out and meeting new people could be good, she wasn’t quite sure that Rachel was ready to get involved romantically.

“Yeah. I haven’t… we haven’t gone out or anything. But he seems really nice.”

Hannah nodded. “Well, just don’t forget what we talked about.”

“I know.” Rachel smiled. “For the first time in a while, I feel really good like everything’s exactly the way it should be.”

“That’s wonderful.” Hannah smiled at her. “You’ve come a long way, Rachel. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Rachel smiled, and a lightness filled Hannah's heart. Rachel seemed far more content than she’d seen her in months. After everything she’d been through, she deserved to be happy. Hannah just hoped it would last.

CHAPTER

THREE

The man shifted where he sat behind the house, ensconced in the trees, and he watched as the navy sedan turned into the driveway then parked beside the small house. The woman stepped out of the car and walked to the mailbox. Her blonde hair floated behind her, glimmering in the light of the setting sun as it fell halfway down her back.

She reminded him of his first, all those years ago. It’d been almost a year now since he’d allowed himself to hunt, and the urges were getting harder and harder to ignore.

Would this get the doctor’s attention? He’d been trying to get her to notice him, doing everything he could think of to put himself in her path. And she was a psychologist now, of all things. He smirked at the irony of it. He wondered what she’d say when he finally revealed himself to her. She’d run so far, tried so hard to escape her past, but he’d been right under her nose.

It had taken a little while to track her down, of course, since she’d changed her name. Her records had been sealed, and for a long time, he’d despaired of ever finding her. But things had changed a couple of years ago when he’d gotten his first lead.

A different person himself now, he’d gone back to Ohio and kept his ears low to the ground. Although the tragedy had died down over the years, people still remembered it like it was yesterday. With a few well-placed questions, he finally heard that she’d moved to Florida her senior year.

No longer ruled by his impulsive urges, he was more efficient, infinitely more sophisticated. He was an exceptional hunter, always well-prepared, researching for days or weeks before making his move. He prided himself on his perfect execution, and he never rushed into anything. People who hurried made mistakes—and he never made mistakes.

A feral smile broke across his face as he watched the young nurse stride back up the driveway, head bent as she flipped through the collection of bills and junk mail. Darkness crept over the evening sky, turning it from orange to pink, then finally a dark lapis as daylight bled away completely. Lights flickered to life inside and he watched her shadow move around the small house as she settled in for the night.

He’d watched her for more than a week now, and he closed his eyes, mentally tracking her movements from room to room. First, she would head into the kitchen to make dinner—typically a frozen TV dinner, judging from the containers he’d found in the trash can. Afterward, she would move across the house to the bathroom where she’d shower and brush her teeth, then finally to the single bedroom. Alone. Her routine was entirely too predictable. But that was good for him.

Opening his eyes again, he watched her shadow as she carried her dinner to the couch and turned on the TV. Last night she’d watched that horrendous show about spoiled housewives. What would it be tonight?

Forty minutes later the glow of the TV was extinguished, immediately followed by the small lamp on the end table, bathing the room in darkness. The kitchen light came on as she discarded the remains of her dinner, then flicked off again as she made her way down the hall to the bathroom.

Not long now. Another hour and she’d be asleep, but he’d wait a little longer. People were unpredictable. Never knew when one of the neighbors might step outside for a late-night smoke or to let an animal out before going to bed.

The house two doors down had some little ankle biter that yapped at everything. It had almost ruined his recon two nights ago, tearing across the yard toward him before being jerked back by the jolt of the electric fence buried in the ground. He’d retreated then, making his way back into the trees and waiting until the owner had called for the dog to get inside. Tonight, it was quiet—so far. He continued to watch, waiting with barely restrained anticipation as night settled fully over the quiet street.

A little after one o’clock he crept from the trees and approached the house, hunkering down to blend in with the shrubs that separated her lawn from her neighbor to the left. Cutting across the narrow strip of yard, he bent down to the basement window that he’d left unlocked several days prior. He’d checked routinely to make sure that it was still open, but apparently the room was seldom-used since she hadn’t yet noticed it was unlocked.

Swinging the pane inward, he crouched down on the soft, dewy grass and slid feet-first through the narrow rectangle. Dropping swiftly to the floor, he kept one hand on the window to keep it from slamming closed behind him. He quietly lowered it into place and stood stock still as his eyes adjusted to the dark, listening for any sounds of awareness in the house. Only the soft hum of the appliances answered him, and he moved toward the stairs.

This part was trickier. The house was old, and the wooden stairs groaned and creaked with each step. He placed his left foot on the first step all the way to the left. Slowly transferring his weight, he stepped dead in the middle on the second tread. Methodically he climbed the stairs, moving from the memory of having done it dozens of times one day while she was at work.

Finally reaching the door, he turned the handle and inched it open a crack. Eyes and ears on alert he scanned the area, but all was quiet. He crept through the kitchen then down the narrow hallway to her room. The door stood open, and he watched her a moment before stepping silently up to the side of her bed.

The woman lay curled on her side facing away from him, and he stroked a finger down the length of her arm. She shivered at the feather-light touch and rolled toward him, her lashes flickering several times before opening. He could see the wheels turning as she gradually came awake and his presence registered. “Hello, Monique.”